


Hard Ground

by depraved_trash



Series: Annals of the Nightmare Court [1]
Category: Guild Wars
Genre: Gang Rape, M/M, Nightmare Court (Guild Wars), Sylvari
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depraved_trash/pseuds/depraved_trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a prompt on guildwars2kmeme. Trahearne is captured by the Nightmare Court. This won't end well.</p><p>This contains descriptions that some people will find distressing. Please heed the warnings and proceed with caution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt:
> 
> "I feel unnecessarily guilty for it, but I'd love to see Trahearne get gangbanged by some of the Nightmare sylvari; emphasis on his pain and reluctant pleasure in particular. Perhaps some bondage to keep him still, but that's not necessary."
> 
> Well, the pain is there, and the reluctant pleasure is coming soon. And I feel guilty too, lovely Anon. I feel guilty too.

The defence against the Court had not gone well. Actually, this was a severe understatement, but with three courtier blades at his back and another at his throat, Trahearne's vocabulary was only throwing up a limited number of options. Many of them had four letters or fewer.

He tried to keep his face neutral as the courtier Captain looked him over, an infuriating smirk on his face. His bark was ash-grey, reminiscent of a birch tree, with long, dark head-leaves tied loosely at the nape of his neck. In other contexts he might have looked noble, even heroic, but the predatory glint in his eyes and the way he presided over the other three Sylvari holding Trahearne marked him firmly as a Knight Commander of the Nightmare Court. 

"Firstborn Trahearne," he purred. "What an unexpected pleasure. I'm sure the rest of the Den will be delighted to know we have such an auspicious guest." 

Trahearne stayed silent. Clearly he had underestimated the strength of their numbers; he had seen at least half of their Wardens fall, and who knew what had happened to the rest? At least Caithe knew where he was, giving him some hope of rescue, but it was what the Court might do to them in the interim that worried him the most. 

He had heard stories of the kind of depravity visited on the innocent by these people, but had never truly wanted to believe them. Now he and the sylvari under his command would have the chance to confirm them first-hand. Guilt burned within him as he thought of the terror and pain that the Court would inflict on his troops, and for which he held himself at least partially responsible. 

"Nothing to say for yourself?" the knight continued. "Never mind. I'm sure we'll be getting to know each other soon enough." 

There was a hint of something in his voice that made Trahearne's leaves stand up on end, but he had little time to consider it before the man had commanded his underlings to drag the scholar further into the Den. Their grip was harsh and spiteful, although Trahearne would have offered little resistance if he'd had the chance. His eyes caught the amused stares of other Courtiers and the cowed looks of captives in their vine cages, and though he tried to keep his head held high, he was well aware that the Dreamers amongst them could sense his frustration and shame. 

"Here," the knight instructed, leading them to the centre of an empty space some distance inside. "Hold his arms." Rough hands twisted them suddenly behind his back, causing him to stoop forward in pain, a parody of a bow. The man's gaze raked over him slowly. 

"Inform the Duke of our new acquisition when he returns," he commanded. "Meanwhile, let's make sure our Firstborn guest receives a proper welcome. Get him on his knees." 

There was a sharp kick to the back of his legs, and the weight of the hand pressing down on each shoulder gave Trahearne no choice but to obey. The knight approached him slowly, his eyes smug, and traced one taunting finger up the side of the other man's face. Something tightened deep within Trahearne's stomach, but he resisted the urge to flinch. 

Abruptly, the knight's hand gripped the scholar's chin, and dropped into a crouch before him, bringing them face to face. He smiled. 

"Listen carefully, my friend. Do you see those captives in the cage to my far right?" he asked. "If I feel so much as a hint of your teeth, every single one of them will die knowing that the great and revered firstborn Trahearne is responsible for their prolonged agony."

"I don't -" Trahearne began, confused, and then his eyes widened as the man stood up again, unfastening the front of his trousers with deliberate slowness. "You can't be serious!"

The hands restraining his arms tightened; one of the sylvari at his shoulders leant down to his level and placed a teasing kiss on his neck that made Trahearne shiver with disgust. "Get on with it, Dreamer," he hissed. 

The knight continued to unbuckle his belt, a predatory fire in his eyes. He wore leather armor, in the manner of a human, although beneath the trousers he was unmistakably sylvari, his ash-coloured member already partially hard. "Wait your turn, Aidan," he chided, then; "Look, firstborn. I _am_ going to fuck you. Either you can get my dick nice and wet, or I'm sticking it in dry, and I promise you that's even less enjoyable than it sounds."

Trahearne's hands were held tight behind his back; he could barely struggle against them, let alone think of casting anything, and as he reluctantly opened his mouth for the man's erection, fear and disbelief nested heavy within him. He knew these things happened, had even been privy to the harrowing stories brought back by escaped captives, their pain and terror filtering through to him by their shared connection to the Dream, but never had he imagined that it might happen to him. 

The knight was not gentle. Trahearne quickly found himself choking on his length, gagging slightly at the man's taste as his tongue worked at it, seemingly of its own accord, trying to make it as slick as possible in anticipation of the pain that he still couldn't entirely accept was coming. 

A sickening moan interrupted his reverie, and the knight's hand grabbed at the back of his head. "You've done this before, it seems," he taunted, already a little breathless. "Clearly all those rumours about you and Riannoc were more than just speculation."

Trahearne squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to think about his dead lover, the taste of him, the way he used to gasp when he came - he banished the image from his head, unwilling to sully Riannoc's memory by invoking it at a time like this. The knight moaned again, pushing himself deeper, then abruptly pulled the scholar's head away.

"Remind me to use your mouth properly at some point," he said. "Alright, get him on his back. I want to see his face as I fuck him."

The floor hit Trahearne's shoulderblades roughly, and he could not help but struggle and cry out, panic flaring inside him at his helpless position. One of the courtiers pinned his wrists down. The other slipped a knife beneath the waistband of his trousers and ripped them open, allowing Aidan and his knight to divest him quicky of his coverings before they grabbed his ankles and forced his legs apart, shoving his thighs painfully upwards to expose him entirely. With a jolt of shame, Trahearne realised he was trembling. 

The ash-skinned knight dropped to his knees and, without any kind of preamble, held the slickened tip of his member to Trahearne's entrance and pushed. A hot, blinding pain shot through him, and the terrible burning only intensified as the man eased himself deeper, covering the firstborn's quivering body with his own. 

"Thorns, you're tight as a sapling," he breathed, as Trahearne bit down the impulse to scream, desperate to maintain his dignity with so many watching. But as the knight started to thrust he could not hold back the involuntary whimpers and grunts of pain, his whole body protesting desperately against this brutal violation. Fingers tightened on his wrists as the man quickened his pace, mercilessly slamming inside him, hands gripping his thighs for leverage.

It felt like he was dying, like he was being ripped in half. The knight leant over him, and his breaths were like white-hot brands of shame against the skin of his throat. "And you struggle like one too," he whispered. "I'm going to enjoy watching the others break you. Every courtier in this place is going to have their way with you, firstborn, and maybe even some of the captives if- if they behave-"

Through the agony and the humiliation, Trahearne realized the man was close to coming, and the thought of being defiled with his seed made him panic and renew his desperate struggles, the small of his back scraping harshly against the ground as he tried to somehow force him out, but the knight only ground harder against him and moaned as his hips rocked to a still, deep and agonizing and hot.

"Fuck, yes, oh thorns, yes," he gasped. The feel of the knight's come seeping out of him--or perhaps he was just bleeding--made Trahearne want to vomit. Still panting hard, the man rested atop him a few moments before drawing back and buckling up his trousers again.

"Alright, Aidan, you're up," he said, as he stood. Trahearne closed his eyes. Part of him still couldn't believe this was happening, although the pain inside him was hard to deny. He tried to go somewhere else in his head. _The only lasting peace is the peace within your own mind,_ he recalled, though the words of the tablet did not comfort him now, and as Aiden knelt between his legs and undid the front of his own trousers, the scholar gritted his teeth.

"Always wanted to fuck a firstborn," the courtier muttered. "Shame it isn't one of the prettier ones, but you'll do."

In a way the second time was worse. Trahearne knew what was coming, now, and the pain did not abate. He was torn and raw from the knight's assault, and as Aidan pounded relentlessly into him he began to hope that he might pass out before anyone else raped him. The prospect of more courtiers having their turn was unbearable; he could understand why some captives turned to the Nightmare so quickly...

But this was a dangerous train of thought.

His only recourse was to hold out as long as he could. To remember that this experience would strengthen him, if he survived it. _Hard ground makes stronger roots._ And yet as Aidan shuddered and released inside him, he could feel the appeal of surviving begin to slip away. He had not felt this way since Riannoc died, and he had vowed never to go there again.

_Don't think of Riannoc. Fight this with everything you have. Hard ground makes stronger roots._

When Aidan's weight left him, another courtier was quick to take his place. Trahearne barely reacted this time, attempting to save his energy, but his unresponsiveness earned him a sudden and painful punch to the stomach. His body jerked reflexively, arms twitching despite his wrists being pinned to the ground.

"Look alive, whore. If I wanted to fuck a corpse I'd have killed you first."

"This is taking too long. Get him on all fours, I want a turn with his mouth."

_Hard ground makes stronger roots. Hard ground makes stronger roots._

The next one finished deep in his throat, causing him to gag and choke on the thick fluid. The one after that grabbed him by the head-leaves and spilled over his face and neck as the courtiers laughed. He tried desperately to let his mind go blank, to keep his focus on that receding territory within his soul that the Court had not yet touched. After the sixth one had violated him he stopped fighting the urge to scream; at the eighth he realized he had been crying for some time. Eventually he could no longer respond when they slapped him, even if he'd wanted to.

"That's enough, Davyn. Tie his arms and let him recover in one of the cages. We don't want to kill him."

And though the pain did not leave him entirely then, and the sap was still slowly pooling on the ground beneath him, it was enough that Trahearne could drift into a numb kind of sleep, and the hurt and the grief and the pity of the other captives reached out and caressed him in his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

Trahearne awoke tired and in pain. Scanning the cramped vine cage in which he had been placed, he counted five other captives, none of whom seemed to be sleeping; when he lifted his head a slender woman he did not recognize moved to his side and laid a bowl of water beside his head. There was a soft pink glow to her features.

"How long was I asleep?" he croaked, not quite trusting himself to move much yet. 

"Only a few hours," she replied gently. "Here." She unbundled something from her arms and held it out to him. A simple tunic, shaped from leaves. Trahearne realized belatedly that he was naked. He must have lost the rest of his clothing the night before, though he did not remember much after the ninth. 

"They're just going to tear it off again, Sinead." Another woman's voice, cold and low. Trahearne caught the glint of her eyes in the semi-darkness. "Don't waste what we have." 

He was glad he could not see much of his body in this light, though he could feel the dried sap on his legs well enough, amongst other things. The reminder made him stop breathing for a moment. He forced himself to speak. "She's right. Don't worry about me." 

"It's fine. Really. Would you like me to help you?" Sinead extended a tentative arm, and Trahearne let himself be helped up into a sitting position, biting back any protest at the pain, or the waves of nausea that seemed to accompany the idea of being touched again. 

"We have water for you. There's not much, but it's enough to drink and wash, perhaps." She pressed the bowl into his hands and he was too tired to argue; the lukewarm liquid soothed his raw throat. His palms came away slimy when he washed his face, tinges of photoluminescent sap sticking to his fingers. It did not feel like enough, but he had not expected to feel clean anytime soon. 

"You need healing." A man's voice, one he recognized as belonging to a captured Warden named Ciaran. "There's an aura on the cages that stops us using magic, but I'm told there are menders in the Court, to keep us alive." He sounded bitter. 

"Are you alright? Did they harm you?" Trahearne let himself be aided by Sinead as he slipped the tunic over his head. He knew he should have refused it, but he needed to be covered again, an illusion of protection that he would allow himself for now. 

"Not yet," Ciaran said. "But there are not many of us left. The injured were--" A brief silence. Trahearne closed his eyes. "The court elected not to waste their time on them." 

"I'm sorry." He did not want to face this truth, not yet, but the weight of his failure lay heavy on his soul. 

"The fault was not yours, firstborn Trahearne. We were outnumbered to begin with." 

_Firstborn_ \--the word took him back unexpectedly and he winced in the darkness. Sinead must have felt his pain. She put a hand out to touch his shoulder, then drew it back. 

"It gets easier. I promise you," she said. "They'll soon grow bored of you, and it--it will start to abate a little." Her aura prickled with sympathy and buried hurt. He wanted to take her hand but could not bring himself to reach out.

Sharp voices sounded from outside the cage. "Sounds like the firstborn is awake, sire. Should we fetch the Duke?" 

"No, just get him washed and bring him to the upper levels." With a jolt, Trahearne recognized the voice of Davyn, the Knight who had brought him in. As the courtiers dragged him out on unsteady legs and shoved him under the waterfall at the end of the cavern, he tried to keep his gaze away from the man's face, not trusting himself to maintain his composure should he meet his violator's eyes. 

They did not bother to remove his tunic, which was a small relief to him, but the task of washing was an ordeal. He kept his eyes shut and did his best to get it over with quickly. Fresh drops of sap crept to his ankles as they led him to the upper levels of the Den. Trahearne did not look down. 

The Duke's quarters were more verdant and colourful than the scholar had expected; the Duke himself, a tall, refined-looking sylvari in gentle shades of green and blue. Had his arms not been tied behind his back, Trahearne could easily have thought he was back in the Grove. He allowed himself to be laid side-down on a bed of soft fronds as a healer looked him over, the Duke watching them both dispassionately with frost-coloured eyes.

"I must apologise for not addressing you as soon as you arrived, brother," he said, as the healer's hands roved over Trahearne's grazed shoulders, the muscles of his chest and arms still sore from where he had struggled against his captors' hold. "I do hope this will still be a productive discussion. It is not every day I am privileged enough to entertain such an eminent guest."

Trahearne gritted his teeth as the healer moved lower down over his back. Though her touch was professional and quick, it still felt like a violation, and the soothing magic left a more subtle kind of hurt in its wake. "If this is how you treat your guests, I pity your enemies," he said, trying to keep his voice even. 

"As the one who captured you, Sir Davyn had the right to deal with you as he saw fit." The Duke turned his back, sliding a glass bottle out of the vine rack on his desk. "Not even our self-styled leaders are exempt from this rule, although I do regret that you were not brought in by one of the more... gentle members of my retinue." 

Trahearne swallowed. At least the pain inside him was fading now; again, he tried not to think about it. "I never claimed to be a leader." 

"First among equals, I suppose? But that is a conversation for another time, perhaps. Are you done, Erin?" He addressed the healer suddenly. "Good. Sit him up and leave us." 

The girl's weight shifted from the bed as Trahearne was moved onto his knees; the Duke uncorked the bottle and poured some of the syrupy liquid into a cup. Only one. "You must be thirsty, brother." 

"What's in it?" 

"Something to make it easier." The Duke settled beside him, lifting the drink to his lips. "Do us both this favour, firstborn. I'm sure neither of us want this to be an unpleasant experience." 

Trahearne drew his head away, lips resolutely closed. The Duke sighed lightly. 

"I will not suffer the indignity of forcing you, my dear," he said, pulling the cup away again. "I am giving you the chance to have a civil conversation with me, and perhaps forget a little of what you have suffered - will you take it or not?" 

"I'm afraid I must decline." Trahearne tried to keep a civil tone, but his voice was still edged with spite. 

"As you wish." His host rose to his feet again, summoned the attendants who had brought Trahearne in. "Please escort our guest downstairs again and have him pinned to the wall beside his cage; let the retinue know they are free to take their enjoyment as they will. Oh--" He handed over the glass bottle, still at least three-quarters full. "And pour the rest of this down his throat before they start." 

Somehow Trahearne managed the walk down without his knees giving out, although he was weeping silently long before the vines had closed around his wrists. 


End file.
